A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(7)

She reached forward. “May I?”

As if he could refuse. Thorne placed the pup in her arms.

She fawned and cooed over it like a baby. “Where did you come from, sweeting?”

“A farm nearby,” Thorne answered. “Thought I’d take him back to the castle. Been needing a hound.”

She cocked her head and peered at the pup. “Is he a hound?”

“Partly.”

Her fingers traced a rust-colored patch over the pup’s right eye. “I’d suppose he’s partly many things, isn’t he? Funny little dear.”

She lifted the pup in both hands and looked it nose-to-nose, puckering her lips to make a little chirping noise. The dog licked her face.

Lucky cur.

“Was that mean Corporal Thorne keeping you in a dark, nasty satchel?” She gave the pup a playful shake. “You like it so much better out here with me, don’t you? Of course you do.”

The dog yipped. She laughed and drew it close to her chest, bending over its furry neck.

“You are perfect,” he heard her whisper. “You are just exactly what I needed today.” She stroked the pup’s fur. “Thank you.”

Thorne felt a sharp twist in his chest. Like something rusted and bent, shaking loose. This girl had a way of doing that—making him feel. She always had, even years upon years in the past. That long-ago time seemed to fall beyond the reach of her earliest memories. A true mercy for her.

But Thorne remembered. He remembered it all.

He cleared his throat. “We’d best be on the road. It’ll be near dark by the time we reach Spindle Cove.”

She tore her attention from the dog and gave Thorne a curious glance. “But how?”

“You’ll ride with me. The both of you. I’ll take you up on my saddle. You’ll carry the dog.”

As if consulting all the concerned parties, she turned to the horse. Then to the dog. Lastly, she lifted her gaze to Thorne’s. “You’re certain we’ll fit?”

“Just.”

She bit her lip, looking unsure.

Her instinctive resistance to the idea was plain. And understandable. Thorne wasn’t overeager to put his plan into action, either. Three hours astride a horse with Miss Kate Taylor nestled between his thighs? Torture of the keenest sort. But he could see no better way to have her swiftly and safely home.

He could do this. If he’d lasted a year with her in the same tiny village, he could withstand a few hours’ closeness.

“I won’t leave you here,” he said. “It’ll have to be done.”

Her mouth quirked in a droll, self-conscious smile. It was reassuring to see, and at the same time devastating.

“When you put it that way, I find myself unable to refuse.”

For God’s sake, don’t say that.

“Thank you,” she added. She laid a gentle touch to his sleeve.

For your own sake, don’t do that.

He pulled away from her touch, and she looked hurt. Which made him want to soothe her, but he didn’t dare try.

“Mind the pup,” he said.

Thorne helped her into the saddle, boosting her at the knee, rather than the thigh, as might have been more efficient. He mounted the gelding, taking the reins in one hand and keeping one arm about her waist. As he nudged the horse into a walk, she fell against him, soft and warm. His thighs bracketed hers.

Her hair smelled of clover and lemon. The scent rushed all through his senses before he could stop it. Damn, damn, damn. He could discourage her from talking to him, touching him. He could keep her distracted with a dog. But how could he prevent her from being shaped like a woman and smelling like paradise?

Never mind the beatings, the lashings, the years of prison . . .

Thorne knew, without a doubt, the next three hours would be the harshest punishment of his life.

Chapter Three

The strangest thing happened during their first hour on horseback. Before Kate’s eyes, Corporal Thorne transformed into a completely different man.

A good-looking one.

The first time she stole a glance at him, letting her gaze make the slow, perilous climb from his lapel to his face—she found his appearance just as hard and intimidating as ever. The planes of his face were lit with harsh, late afternoon sun. She cringed.

But then, a few hundred yards farther down the road, she glanced up again as they passed beneath a stand of trees. This time she caught him in profile, and his features were touched with shadow. She fancied him to look . . . not so much forbidding as protective. Strong.

The wall of heated muscle at her back only reinforced this impression. So did the massive arm braced around her middle and the effortless manner with which he guided his horse. No shouting or flicking the crop—just gentle nudges of his heels and the occasional quiet word. Those words shivered through her bones like cello notes, each one settling to a low, arousing thrum at the base of her spine.

She closed her eyes. Deep voices touched her in deep places.

From that point on she kept her gaze stubbornly trained on the road ahead. Nevertheless, her mental image of Thorne continued to change. In her mind’s eye he went from forbidding and stern, to protective and strong, to . . .

Handsome.

Wildly, improbably, outrageously handsome.

No, no. It just couldn’t be. Her imagination was playing tricks. Kate knew many of the working-class women in Spindle Cove fancied Corporal Thorne, but she’d never understood why. His features just didn’t appeal to her—probably because he was usually employing them to send a frown or a glare in her direction. On those rare occasions when he looked in her direction at all.